


A Rook That Flew Away

by CroWade



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin to templar, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ethan is alive(kinda), Family Issues, Fluff and Smut, I'm bad at smut and fight scenes but I'm trying!!!, I'm sorry Rooks, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Plan, Sibling Death, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CroWade/pseuds/CroWade
Summary: Jacob Frye had enough. His father, his sister chained him down from achieving his goals. He has to take steps on his own, and bring peace.
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Engish is my second language so excuse me if you find some mistakes  
> But I try to improve!  
> I do this for fun and 'Why not', but I accept opinions and criticism. <3  
> Hope you enjoy it!

_“Life's hardest choices are the ones that force you to question your own moral code.”_

― Shay Patrick Cormac

Jacob’s hands were sticking by the blood of Ferris. It was not that big of a thing to kill him, truly. Still that few slit on his coat from the blighters weren’t the most comfortable. A cut on his clothes; he will sew it up at home like after every accident like this. His coat already looked like a cow from afar. He stood up from the corpse; the man before leaving the word of the alive, cursed him with his last words. The woman, stick to the wall with horror at the view and watched as Jacob gets up coldly. A blighter came in and noticed the frosty and wolfish look on Ferris’s corpse and rather huddled up in the closest corner of the room. The assassin stepped to him and grabbed into his collar. He put his hidden blade near his throat and said:

“Shut your mouth and take this to your boss. I won’t kill you if you do as I say.” The man with his lasting breath nodded and Jacob let him go but still stood above him to hand out the package. He took out an assassin letter with a blue stain on, never opened up before, than put it into the blighter’s hand. The man ran from below him and went out the closest door. The other side had a group of patrolling Templar mice.

The blood’s smell hit the assassin’s nose and felt that he had to go; it is time to escape from this hellhole.

He already took the first requisite steps to his goal. A punk wooden door waited him as he went outside through the rooms filled with posters and pipes. His legs quickly went beside the boxes than his footsteps went up the stairs, upwards and he finally get to the outside; a bridge above a train that brings him out of there. For first he quivered and leaned forward over the train what made a starting sound. One or two, how many red coats oversaw the train? He counted it in himself than jumped down as the train set of from its original place. He arrived strongly; his legs folded back and his hands were on the metal top. The steam was in his face, blood on his coat and a few scratches but nothing more special than what he gets after a sordid night in a pub in Crawley. He breathed in the oil he stepped in as he ran around in the factory. He looked back a measure of excitement. The danger was his life and as much he born into this danger, his heart pounded wildly every time something like this happened. One blighter jumped down from the platform beside the tracks and Jacob had the familiar feeling as the man jumped onto his cabin’s top. Than another one and they all danced on the metal platform, their shoes made the music for their dancing. Jacob’s bitty but quick movements were useful. He dodged a cut and kicked out the man’s legs who after this fell to his death from the steamy metal monster. The other attacked but Jacob leaned down and punched into the other’s ribs with his metal boxer. The man stepped back and left enough place for the assassin to punch again and kick the enemy down.

“Tickets please!” He shouted with some kind of bravery in his voice.

Another one came again, they were a few meters apart and Jacob ran onto another wagon where the coal was. It was dangerous, a little bit of miss step and the coal would tumble like an avalanche. Jacob shuddered as he felt his foot slips in the fight, but there was not time to think about that. The other was not that lucky and he watched as the man falls down from the train into the mud like a doll. Jacob chose to rather go back onto a cabin what is safer. He had a glimpse of a carriage beside the tracks. A carriage what was wide, wooden and kinds of cargo was transported in it. The carriage went fast beside the train, two redcoats sat on the front and it could be seen on the white horses on the front that they were used today already a few times.

“Lost your bottle. Boys?” He shouted at somewhere to those blighters but the wind carried off his voice. The carriage switch the railings and the assassin felt as the train with a sharp noise tries to stop. He turned back to the front, his body wringed as he moved suddenly and tried to keep his balance. He gasped at the view.: Railings soon no more. A man rolled on the hard soil beside the vehicle: the machinist. And with that he was the only one left. ‘Run’ just this went in his head and his legs already started to run backwards, he knew he can’t keep up the phase but thinking about his unclear steps wasn’t a true option right now. This momento wasn’t for laughs. An explosion, fire cracking, the hot steamy air flying down; like hell opened its gates under him along with the metal skeleton of the train. He sensed the metal parts, the dust and the smoke. His body like an animal tried to bring him forward. He started to fall with the whole wagon but he still limed on the wooden boxes which vanished below him in the fire. In the end he could grasp the into the cabin’s wooden floor with his hands and he hang on it comfortably. It was a familiar feeling.

“Well, we seem to have made an unscheduled stop.” He smirked. The adrenaline went through his veins by the last minutes of action and for a moment he looked up to see where he came from. The sky was blue; the smoke went up and joined the clouds. Probably Evie was done with her mission, so it was time for him to make his way back to the train station.

***

“I shall see you back in Crawley.” Evie quoted after George. Sometimes she left her legs go lazy in the air for a moment as she stepped closer to the railings. She looked to the sides, into the light and the darkest shadows. The older man already vanished in the station’s darkness like a ghost.

“ _“Patience”_ , Evie...” Jacob hissed the words onto her back.

The night’s mist settled on their shoulders. Jacob looked to the left, where the big city is; London.

The windows were empty behind their back; the lamps' light blinded them in the ill-lit place. Posters and commercials filled up the walls of the buildings. It was a surprise the train station didn’t collapsed because it seemed to not been taken care of for a long time.

George’s voice was in his ears. A sigh left Evie, as she turned to her brother with sullen look. Jacob didn’t thrill at that. He saw those same eyes a hundred times – just like father’s- looking at him in the same way. Like when George got him back to the family house in the early hours after a fight, with new scars like a bloody nose and wounded arm, broken fingers. He raised an eyebrow at the expression and watched as the female twin skim beside him and stops a few meters away.

Evie with warning and thunder voice said “Don’t do anything stupid Jacob. Father is waiting for us at home…”

Jacob responded “Me? When did I do anything stupid?” He chuckled and the twin’s eyes met. She just looked at him with disgust. Jacob’s tone turned sweeter and nodded “We will meet in Crawley.”

The woman nodded back and she made her way into the darkness, to go back home. Into the birdcage. But oh Jacob, he knew what will his next step will be, what will come on the same railway. He bit into his lip, and a bit of fear ran through his sweating face. A train’s noise whizzed on the concrete which Jacob’s shoes made dirty under his boots. The oil and the dirt stayed on it from the factories; blood on his clothes –the Templars’- from the ones he killed a few hours ago. Gunpowder smell came from his trousers and he just watched as the train comes; the train that goes to London. But still George’s words rang in his air like a warning shadow. But who he was? Jacob Frye; protector and troublemaker of Crawley. 'Patience' was not in his dictionary, not now! And if Evie isn’t on his side, he will take this opportunity to run away from father and broke those chains he had to live with.

The train come closer and closer. The steam could be smelled from afar already. The stones quivered and just the emotions controlled the young rouge’s body as he ran for the cabins.An opened one, and another! And his toes reached one of those. His hands hold the wooden sides strongly, he trilled and he felt like he didn’t do this before. “To London” He whispered and felt the wind caressing on his face like the gentle touch of a mother. He felt free for a moment. From whom? From family and Creed he had born into. He didn’t even know what will happen when he lived at his grandmother and ran in the garden with Evie. He didn’t even know what is right and what is wrong. But he still didn’t know that, age 21.

“To London” He whispered again and his eyes went into the musty sun on the brightening sky.

*** 

“Rexford Keylock” He said out that magical name on his lips quietly as the train stopped. He hoped the letter arrived to the said man. He stepped down from the wagon wall’s darkness and looked around. The lights, what went through the bluish and greenish glass windows above him blinded his eyes. It was around ten o’ clock and November’s cold winds went thought his coat. He had never seen that much people, and for a moment he was afraid to step down onto the stiffed streets or even to the stoned platform beside the railings. Kids played football and dealers’ ant castles pestered the station’s edges. Something made it hard to breath. His heart raced; this is his place, London, the capital, the steaming monster, Heaven and Hell uniting.

This is the place where the meeting will take place, and he hoped not death will welcome him.

“Jacob Frye?” A low, roaring voice named him from behind. The Frye turned and stepped back with surprise from the taller man. The man wore the Templar symbol with pride on his chest. 

“Mr. Keylock if I’m not wrong?” He held out his hand for the Templar who shook it strongly. Jacob set his teeth by the pain of it.

“No, you are not Mr. Frye… So, I got the letter. And if it isn’t a problem I would first see what you are capable of and we would talk about the details…On the way” Both of them raised an eyebrow at the other. Jacob giggled awkwardly and let the strong hand go. The Templar man led them to a purple carriage. One of his men opened the doors for them.

“Of course!” The assassin straightened and looked behind the other. Five other blighters stood behind them. A smile got him as he thought about the irony how he killed them a day ago.

First him, than Keylock stepped into the carriage. It was careless from him to do that but his eyes instantly sought for escape options, or how to kill Keylock. In the end the Templar didn’t take any of his weapons down.

-In London, 1 day before-

The room was grey, the morning raises of sun just reached Starrick’s desk. Almost everything was maroon red, the colour of richness. Alas, here it gave a more unfriendly and darker tone for the rather rich office. Most of the curtains were wound up; showing the Templar’s symbol on the windows made of colourful glass. The red carpet showed the way to the table what a glass of wine and a bottle of ink, along with a few papers decorated. An old, brown piano took place in the right corner, in front of the tall windows. Book shells - with colourful, and books with all kinds of topics in the world. And put into an ABC sequence as it is appropriate- were on both sides of the room. Starrick was sitting in front of the desk, he looked though the papers and especially the letter he got from Keylock not that long ago. An Assassin seal, elegant and not rushed, still the letter had some errors. Dirt and coal marks were on it, along with some of the blood of Ferris, maybe. The Grandmaster could imagine how _those Assassins_ write the letter with Ferris’s blood even. In the end, in his eyes the Creed was something senseless, and like parasites to the world. Maybe he was wise, but none the less an egoist.

His assistant came in, Keylock following him from behind. Tea on a silver tray was in the assistant’s hands. The assistant poured tea into white cups than held out one of them to Starrick. The Grandmaster took it with respect and nodded.

“Jacob Frye, and assassin if I’m not wrong.” He begun and poured some milk into the warm liquid.

Keylock sipped from his own and responded “Yes, Mr. Starrick.”

“How did you get the letter?” He bended his brows and leaned back in his chair.

“One of Mr. Ferris’s men gave it to me. He said it is urgent.” He revealed. The other man hummed and put down the latter from his hands and whisked.

“You will attend on the meeting with him. See if he is good enough to train or rather we shall kill” He draw his finger along the line of the edge of the cup “I will leave it on you”

“Yes, Mr. Starrick.” Keylock bowed with respect and put down his teacup” If I think he is suitable what shall I do next?” Starrick nodded to his assistant who held out a letter to the man.

“Bring him to Mr. Roth; the letter has everything what I ask him to do. I may ask to give it to him till tomorrow.” The grandmaster stood up and looked out the windows into the streets of Westminster “But please, keep an eye on the boy. In any ways” Keylock turned to the exits “You can go now.”

Just these words needed for Rexford to instantly step out from the office together with the letter he got a few moments ago.

Starrick stayed by the glass for some time. He stood their inpatient and like a statue; emotionless. The rooms silence was unsettlingly warm on his back, although revenge like motivation rattled inside his vain. Still he had some kind of wise prudence.

-After the ride in the carriage-

The two gentlemen stepped onto London’s streets again. The leader locked the assassin into a blighter circle and led them to a lower part of Whitechapel, to a space that looked like an orkhesztra. The rounded pit’s bottom was made of wood covered by mud. On the edges little poor houses were. And kids played cards and fed birds with dry bread –what were not even good enough for the dogs- on the top of these little rooftops. The crows happily looked around, into the ring where two people fought, just how the other viewers did. Men and woman watched the bloody rivalry for a few pounds.

You could instantly filter out a man in a funny hat from afar. He patrolled around the place in his blue, old coat around the ring. He advertised the street fights’ glory, if we could name it that way. The sunlight glint on the poodles and empty beer bottles decorated the place; like ornaments the Christmas tree.

Keylock stepped to the smaller, funny clothes man and kicked into the mud than spit close to himself to the side as a good peasant.

“Mr. Keylock!”The unknown man greeted. He stayed in one place with his newspapers and respectfully bowed to the higher ranged man.

“Shut up Topping and put out those two cattle!” He dipped his head to the way of the fighters.

“But-But they just started!” he rambled with some kind of toady tone.

“If you don’t want a broken nose than do what I said.”Keylock commanded. Topping waved and they lug out the two man. Jacob stepped back and looked down to the unfamiliar battleground “Mr. Frye, the place is yours. 3 rounds I tell.” Jacob raised an eyebrow than stepped down on the stairs to the ring’s wooden walls and looked in. At least if he will fight in a fight club, he will get his clothes down. He climbed out of his coat and threw it to one of the blighters along with his hidden blade. A smug smirk was painted on his face by the brave action as he pulled down his waistcoat and white shirt; showing his torso and tattoo of a hawk on the upper side of his chest. The ink on his body perfectly fitted his muscles. He had a white scar under it, but it was not too surprising from a fighter like him. He wasn’t full of muscle, but he had a strong and fit body that could just move as perfectly and amazing as an Assassin’s should. A necklace adorn his neck; 1 penny, the symbol of his youth. He threw his other clothes down too and jumped onto the dicky platform like he does on the rooftops.

If he loses now, he won’t have another chance, he can’t continue what he planned. Everything or nothing, this is what this fight determined. He sighed as he grabbed into the wood borders strongly. They could fall down by a little punch, just how dominos work.

He didn’t expect that kind of introduction –but being honest, he didn’t even know what he should have waited for.

“And now?” He asked and tried to be in the middle. Expelled his hands; inviting the danger. He noticed two men coming; one from the right, and one from the left. They looked rather like enemies than hail-fellows.

“Mr. Frye! The Order wants people who win! Exactly like fight clubs!” Jacob’s eyes brightened and watched the other two men’s movements as vultures. The assassin breathed in the smoke from the air and spread his chest out. He acted like a rooster; trying to look bigger and dangerous.

Everyone got quiet, the usual bustle now become silence. Maybe Jacob was a kind of heroic character to do that, maybe he was as much of a person to look down on, maybe both played in it.

A punch came from one of his enemies but Jacob dodged it and gave the gesture back and drove a punch into the man’s stomach. He didn’t wait a moment to turn the man around and kick into the man’s back with his kneecap. A crack could be hear, the spine was damaged that’s for sure. He elbowed between the man’s neck and shoulder what made the enemy groan in the sudden pain.

The viewers stood up by the action Jacob performed. They wanted to see more.

The other stepped back and watched as Jacob stretched his back in appreciation. He left the man’s body from before lying on the dirt. The man put his fists up for defense but the assassin didn’t care much and broke the wall between him and the man’s face and left the enemy with a broken jaw. Soon he kicked the man’s foot out and with an aggressive pull of the man’s legs into a direction he could break it everyone could hear the waited crunchy noise of broken bones. 

As the assassin got up and looked at Keylock proudly as soon he got a punch from the left. The action was stronger than he ever experienced from anyone. His face fell to the other side and stepped back to keep his balance from the sudden pain. A tooth flew away somewhere. Now he will have the best smile in London, doesn’t he? Jacob spit out the blood like it was some little food left between his teeth and draw his tongue over the place his teeth was. This wasn’t some kind of unfortunate bulk.

‘Victory’ his mind said some moment ago, but oh no. Someone is here who isn’t human nor god. Someone who grew up on the dirty streets of Whitechapel and the Strand’s shiny, artistic opportunities gave potential to bloom. A motherless devil.

“Mr. Jacob Frye. A pleasure” The young hazel eyes met with the bright, blue and green ones. They were like emeralds; summer with the yellows and fire walk in it, and the blue in the eyes were like the winter, cold, beautiful and deliberate. Filled with life and freedom.

“Go to hell Roth!” Keylock shouted down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob meets with Mr. Roth. And it seems that the gang leader has some plans with the assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than the one before, I got carried away,  
> but I hope you enjoy it! <3

_"Silent. Walking alone but not alone"_

\- Arno Dorian

  
  


The man wasn’t particularly young. Forties out, fifties beginning maybe, still his attack was strong, determined; and like he knew which tooth he will punch out from Jacob’s mouth. It was probably not the first time for him doing that. He moved, he stood like that ring is just a dance room.Roth stepped closer and ignored Keylock’s shouting what came from the left for him. He extended his gloved hand towards Jacob with ease, like the ‘incident’ from before didn’t happen. He was totally clothes up; he didn’t look like someone who planned that punch before he took action. For a moment Jacob couldn’t breath and his blood ran cold; he just stared at the white gloved hands. What was under that white material that went around so smoothly the older man’s fingers like it was on him for a thousand or more years?

“My pleasure to see you fight in person, Jacob Frye.” he commented, as Jacob wanted to shake his hand in greeting; Roth guided it up to his lips and settled a gentle, but lingering kiss on his knuckles. Roth locked eyes with the assassin and stood back with all his glory.

He had a long and deep scar from his forehead till his chin; and it stayed stoutly in the same form and didn’t move with the man’s wrinkles. Nobody would say he was the usual handsome; he was rather mysterious, and everybody in a way –good or bad- attracted to him. He had another scar on his jawline, though it was a lot smaller, and more hidden than the other on. These just fancied up his look; like jewellery women. Jacob blinked, then looked at Keylock’s direction for answers. Roth; like he could read his mind, he looked at the same way.“It seems my slow learning man didn’t explain the situation to this gentleman properly who will _truly_ train him.” 

“For god’s sake!” Rexford made his way down, closer to them by every moment. But the youngest still didn’t get what was happening “What are you doing here?”

Roth nodded; and had a bit of an arrogant tone towards the Templar “I thought I see what is happening here…And there.” he tittered and stepped back; his grin like bloody wolves scared any of the two left main heroes of the moment.

“Don’t joke with me, you have the Stra-“

“I don’t have the right to step into my own territory Mr. Keylock?” Everything went suddenly dark by the Blighter Leader’s voice. Like a thunder went through Keylock’s veins. Roth adjusted his coat, now simpler and put on a gentle, but warning smile telling the victory over Rexford.

“Yes, you do Mr. Roth.” the man lowered his head in shame.

“As I thought.” He nodded lightly in agreement and turned back to the assassin “Well, I think the question of the Order getting Jacob under their wings is clear.” He patted Jacob’s shoulder as with big softness as a strong hit he got from the same limbs. He didn’t expect any kind gesture. Hell he was still unsure what to think about his choices, or about the two men he met. But expect that confusion, the youngest’s eyes sparkled up ”It would be a waste to leave out a gentleman like him” his accent made everything more theatrical. His voice sounded like it was not human.

“If you say Mr. Roth.” Rexford obliged.

“And if I will train him, we shall try him out in _my_ playground.” Roth talked like he knew the boy for years.

Was he that bad at acting, or Roth’s artistic experience and confidence help him figure the assassin out? Roth put his hands behind and leaned forward; a gesture that looked so childish from the elegant man. Keylock stepped closer to the two men.

“Mr. Frye,” He started with a shyer voice. Maxwell stood totally up with a smug face and looked at Rexford then at Jacob and back in curiosity “This man is called Maxwell Roth, Leader of the Blighters and soon enough your trainer.” A smile bloomed on Jacob’s face as he looked at the sympathetic, still horribly dangerous and mysterious looking man.The older’s eyes were very bright, and sparkled in the rays of the sun still they were like a dark hole: inscrutable. But Jacob came to London for this; opportunities, adventures that he couldn’t see, nor get before. And as the place of his tooth filled his mouth with blood, and pinched a bit still, he gave some kind of forgiveness towards Mr. Roth.

Roth didn’t seem to punch him that strongly by pure aggression; rather showing Jacob that he still isn’t the biggest of the biggest, and still someone can lock him onto the ground. Roth didn’t live his shiniest days; but a wise and experienced mind with strength was behind his back. After all they didn’t need to shake hands for introduction, so they continued their observance at the other. Most people wouldn’t dare to even look at the dangerous gang leader, nor jump into the unknown that London’s dark corners kept hidden; but some of the people here jumped into those willingly. And usually those people get along with each other.

“If it is possible , we can bring Mr. Frye to the theatre in the next few days” Keylock continued. Jacob raised an eyebrow. Theatre? There? Why? He is a fighter, and Roth is the Leader of the Blighter. How does a theatre come into this?

***

Jacob didn’t ask much. Keylock didn’t seem to be the man who you can have a chat with. Asking would be worse. He heard things from here and there thought, from conversing with his new pals. Not really ‘conversing’, but eavesdropping the talks. The red coats weren’t idiots, they didn’t bring their guards down so easily by Jacob just stepping in from the past of being an _Assassin._ They felt that Jacob isn’t a usual member of the Order; he is still an _assassin,_ just not the member of the _Creed_. Dangerous, and a person who should be killed instantly. But there were no words of Maxwell Roth and the ‘incident’ that took place some days ago. It seemed to be that Mr.Roth kept his appearance really low on the surface of the city, or he hid so greatly that he was like a shadow, haunting London. The famous Dickens would have interest with his club to find that phantom of London’s darkness. Still he was far-famed amongst somewhere underground that the assassin still couldn’t see. Hell Jacob swore Roth was more powerful from that perspective than the so-called Starrick. Keylock sometimes said some stuff about the Grandmaster; and sometimes the Creed Judges dropped some information about him too. Not the most beautiful words, he had to admit.

But in the end, from all the rumours he heard, he began to have more unanswered questions. And he became more interested in the Blighters than in the Leader of the Templar Order particularly. Still, a good relationship with Starrick wasn’t a bad option.

“Mr. Frye, it is time to go” a blighter’s voice echoed through the cabin. He put down his jug to go.

***

The Strad was the place of art, so with that it had the glory to have the Alhambra Music Hall. It was the heart of the section; London’s special beauty, however her fame never was about the leader of It.: about Mr. Maxwell Roth. Alas, in his compositions he never showed up on the stage but rather guided the play with his harsh voice.

Roth undeniably prepared the stage for the visitors. Not mostly for Keylock,but rather for the new play partner. From the point he got the letter from his ‘dear’ boss, and saw the rookie fighting; his mind couldn’t go off the idea of observing the assassin doing the mission he makes for him, he builds for the boy. Just the view of the assassin fighting on that club meeting, his men mentioned, was indeed _mouth-watering_. The Order -Starrick- got their hand on a rough diamond. And hopefully with the little bit of a seduction he will be probably able to bring the assassin closer. Raising a phoenix from the ashes was an honour to do, and watch.

Lewis's familiar door opening already alerted the actor to be ready. He truly did everything to show his and his theatre’s elegance. He put red carpets on the way till the stage under their boots –he didn’t like Keylock dirty boots’ footmarks on the blood red rug. If Roth can’t get red petals in the cold November vibe, he will make a way of red carpets. Maybe it was coloured by the blood of his enemies. He put a table covered in gold yellow cloth onto the edge of the stage- because where they are fit if not there; Roth: who played his own shows till the end of his life, and Jacob: Who will be the light, the fresh wind in his life. So sudden, like a thunder of hope. Roth was romantic, and he, himself, knew that, and liked to show it in the scenes; the table was decorated by candles, and filled up with exotic fruits and food. Even if they won’t eat, he will suffuse the visitors. The theatre’s warm colours like Hell’s fire hugged the man with scars, around. Around him, spiky cut board trees. As much he lived in the Alhambra -and like home was for him- every time he stepped, and walked around some kind of magical and luring feeling made his chest tight. But not just his; but anyone who stepped just one time into the theatre. The Alhambra wasn’t just a Music Hall for him, but his oeuvre too.

The soft wood made the boots knock rhythm swallow, and gave a light timbre to the chatting and music exercising in the background. A singer was trying out her melody, not so far away. Keylock, with Jacob behind him stepped closer, almost into the tender, warm light. Roth’s face was nicely lightened by the golden, yellow lamps from above. His eyes were still filled up with fire, but mildness also swam in them. And he treasured that moment when the assassin stepped into his, HIS theatre.

“A! Our honoured guests have arrived!” he grinned and moved his arms through the air, motioning them closer to the stage. Alcohol in one hand, like the symbol of glory –and joy- was in that gloved hand. “Mr. Keylok, you finished your job. You can go” he pointed lightly at the exit. Keylock snorted.

“As you wish Roth, but don’t think you can get away.”

Roth nodded with the same calm but determined expression. Silence made its way into their very bones till Rexford didn’t make his way out the back doors. After, Roth spoke up again, now more delighted.

“Come, sit!” He pointed at one of the comfortable chairs in front of the assassin’s eyes and turned back for two jugs. As much as the dark shadows hid half of their forms, they couldn’t hide their gestures on the right. Jacob sat down, like he was at home; leaning against the chair and enjoying the vibe of the Alhambra. The cologne Roth used made the man just more sympathetic and it could be read down just by stepping into the Music Hall that he was a proud alcoholic given the fact that many wooden boxes were filled up with liquor and a few bottles took place on the top of the table too.

As Roth turned back, his eyes measured up the younger with the same amaze, even with more. Pure perfection; a wide, sharp face. His scars highlighted the man’s wild soul’s beauty. Brown, but having a little bit of a moss coloured eyes that stared at him. And for a moment he could just stand there, and watch Jacob Frye. Not for a moment, but maybe for a lifetime. He continued as he put down the mugs “I’ve had my eye on you from the moment I got the letter. We don’t have that much of a trust now, but I see the potential in you, Jacob” He leaned forward and poured some wine into the younger man’s jug. He didn’t envy to peter the expensive wine for them. He saw Jacob exploring London at night, being in a fight club in the past few days. He turned back for once more for his own drink, but he felt those hazel eyes stabbing him in the back. As he turned back and poured some whiskey for himself, into a smaller jug than Jacob’s.

“I was an Assassin, doesn’t that bother you?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. The fate that walked around Jacob Frye was something appealing.

“On the contrary. _Surprise is the spice of life_!” he leaned his head a bit to the side to see more of the other “This makes it just more interesting” he raised back and looked into the darkness of the Alhambra, like he sought for something in those deep blue corners. But he was rather lost in his own thoughts “Now, the training and missions are different stories. London has become dull, I’m drowning in directives all terribly boring. And as I quote Mr. Starrick’s words “Only a monster can kill a monster”” He looked back at the assassin with a smile.

“And you think that too?” a smirk appeared on the older’s face, his teeth were shown under his moustache.

“I didn’t say that, Jacob. I think beautiful minds can blow up, or make good partners with one another.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

“About what?”

“This sentence, nor your training.” Jacob leaned back in his chair and took a drink from the jug. Roth put up a more sympathetic and honest look.

“My friend, if fate makes us against each other, or I can’t provide the needed training, well you can charge into this theatre and kill me yourself.” Jacob looked shocked, his lips parted –what Roth eagerly watched- but his curious eyes silently stared at Roth’s every movement. Sure Roth didn’t want to kill him, but Jacob could simply by just a stab in the throat. The Gang leader was an idiot to be unaware or he was so powerful for the need of being careful. Jacob felt the space of his tooth, remembered the strength, and the taste of his own blood. Roth felt Jacob daydreamed for a moment, thinking. And he watched quietly. He felt the tension in the other male. But he knew that Jacob wasn’t afraid of him, Jacob tried to find the line to cross. Tries to make a definition on Maxwell.

“What do YOU get out all of this?” Jacob leaned to the side, looking at the actor directly and made his grasp stronger on the jug’s handle. Roth chuckled jovially.

“The chance to have a little fun with probably the bravest man in London!” Jacob gasped with a light chuckle and looked away, almost burying his face into his old coat. Pink roses bloomed on the assassin’s cheeks. Maxwell was of course by the reaction and admired it with a bottle extended for the agreement. Jacob needs to accept his offer if he wants to get into the Order properly anyways. But he respected the boy, and was interested in what option he chooses.

"Is that a deal?” Jacob asked now more shyly.

“Business and dealing is a strange game my friend. You can only win it, if you never even start it.” The eagle eyes wandered on him, and locked eyes with him; the cling of their drinks was music to his ears. It was a euphoric feeling in his lungs, and both of them took a sip.

“Well then, why not go straight into business?” Jacob slid a bit further from the desk to make space to the actor as he tried to find some papers from the desk. His touches were ghost like, careful but never weak. He looked back with a smile. “I wouldn’t talk more than I should.” The man musically higher his voice but it was something more dramatic than uncomfortable. ”There is a target that needs to be killed. I want to see how you approach it.” Jacob puckered his brows at that. He can be serious in these topics after all.

“You will come with me?”

“Just a bit. Teaching my student how to fly if you like this kind of metaphor.” Jacob wasn’t theatrical. But he liked how Roth used his wording. How the man was so confident and opened in his skin. He liked birds too, he liked that little metaphor that wasn’t so special still felt right to say.

Roth put the papers closer “Would I be a bother?” As much Jacob didn’t have much of a chance to say _no,_ Roth was polite. The assassin lowered his gaze to the food and snitched his nose.

“Of course not.” He simply replied.

“I hoped. Because watching you in the ring is a magnificent view. And finally someone who isn’t afraid to go more than one round” Roth knew the threat of the ring well. And he saw how London’s fight club slowly vanish from the business of entertainment. Maybe Jacob could bring some club’s life back. Roth wouldn’t mind, after all watching two men fight for their life and money is something undeniably inhuman and a joy to watch. They cheered again and drank, Jacob from his jug and Roth from his bottle of whiskey. The alcohol went down their throats and Maxwell’s hands pulled closer a graphics drawing of a man.

“Familiar?” Jacob’s eyes widened as his eyes looked at the paper, he stopped drinking and put down his jug “George Westhouse. He came to London not long ago, and made partnership with Henry Green, the assassin who works in London and an old target for Mr. Keylock for a long time now. “

Roth sighed “He isn’t a threat to the Templars for now, but he made a gang called the ‘Rooks’ and almost took over Whitechapel. So he is ‘dangerous’ to the Blighters and with that a threat to me. So why not kill this at the roots?” Jacob little bit upend and breathed in harshly “As I know he is in one of Southwark’s factories.”

It can’t be that George is his first ever target. It can’t be George who is on the paper. Jacob’s goal was not to kill every assassin. No! The blood froze in him and he felt the wine like poison on his lips.

Roth thought that the young fellow will have a surprise by this but not that much. Still he saw the determination in him so he wasn’t so worried.

“Why such a big target to be the first?” The assassin asked. Roth brushed his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it and closed his eyes with a sly smile.

“Play big, or don’t play” Roth fingers stroke on Jacob’s fingers and guide it over the picture of the master assassin’s face. “We can do it tomorrow. Better sooner than later.” Again his lips fell a bit apart, like he wanted to say something but no words or sound came out from that mouth. He just nodded in agreement.

-Tomorrow afternoon-

The carriage ride was worse than the preparations. Well, in a way that it put the cherry on top, after all Jacob had to get his weapons together to not just kill his and his family’s friend, but some kind of wanted father figure. And now, he has to end the life of that person, with his own hands.

Roth gave him a room, close to his own. Jacob never thought about a theatre being so big to have bedrooms, to be like a home. But he guessed that Roth was a type of person to have this kind of luxury. He hoped he could spend more nights in the theatre, but killing George wasn’t so easy. However Roth’s hands teasingly brushed on his shoulders as they walked; they promised glory, celebration and _forgetting,_ so he rather waited to see if he will have the willpower to kill the Master Assassin or not. He never thought about killing assassins, still it was something he had to do to get into the Order, or at least win the favour of the Templars. He wanted to be a bridge of sort, he wanted freedom and peace.

But oh, on the way he thought he will go crazy. Mostly because of Maxwell Roth, and maybe the actor did this to him on purpose. Already as they stepped into the carriage the air got cold. Lewis, Roth’s assistant drove the carriage; he was the man who he met with at the theatre. The man wasn’t a person either who you could have a nice conversation with, but this wasn’t an assistant’s job after all. They sat beside each other; because Jacob didn’t care much about how and where he was sitting. He put his legs a bit wide apart and took a seat near the corner. The shadows hid half of his face; the sunlight highlighted his jawline and neck. Jacob wasn’t uncomfortable sitting like that beside the other male; Roth didn’t seem to be the person who got annoyed by an action like this, or would judge by that kind of position; as much he was an elegant and intelligent person who always chose the best of everything if he can. Roth didn’t sit far away from the assassin; strangely he felt some kind of pull towards him. The gang leader’s expression was delightful, and pleasingly excited. Jacob tried to look out the windows and stay in silence. His head walked around the thought of George, and how he wants and doesn’t want to kill him.

First he didn’t even notice the ghost hand on his thigh, the now overfamiliar white gloved hand. He couldn’t deny that his heart jumped as he noticed the gesture, but from the outside he tried to act like he didn’t notice them. He didn’t know why he didn't confront Roth about it; he felt uncomfortable but in the background some kind of feeling of being safe lingered by those fingers’ warmth. He glanced down to Roth’s pistol than to his hand. The man could kill him, threaten him; but Roth never did any of these. The punch he gave some days ago wasn’t even like that too. The actor didn’t need words to try to calm Jacob down for the mission; he needed just that hand on his thighs.

Maxwell’s voice broke the ride’s silence; the concrete’s cracking under the wheels, the horses’ huffing and the assassin froze under that deep voice “You are not a good actor Jacob.” He commented with a knowing smile. He put his hand down slowly and stroked the red couch’s surface between them “When we get back, I shall start to teach you.” Jacob swallowed. He couldn’t hide from Roth’s site; that damn man acted like he knew everything about him; from beginning to the end. But Jacob WAS an Assassin, and he should have at least a bit learned how to camouflage himself in front of someone like Roth, or at least learn the lines of closeness.

“Why do you think I will get out alive?” He asked back with a crocked smile. Roth chuckled and showed his teeth, what Jacob definitely noticed from the man to do fairly common.

“After that you become a Master Assassin, going into that mess of Templars is something brave to do, I can’t deny honouring that in you. I’m sure such a trained mind will easily solve any upcoming barrier.” Jacob’s pupils extended and blushed at the sentence which also seemed to be a compliment. He met with Maxwell’s blueish gaze.

***

When they arrived at the planned place Roth opened the doors for the assassin like a true gentleman. Lewis stayed on the seats, like a statue and waited for the command from his boss. As Jacob had one of his feet down on the cobblestones; Roth stopped him by a light hand on his chest and whispered quietly into his ear:

“By the way my friend, I wouldn’t recommend staying in the factory too much.” Jacob blinked and tried to process all the happening. He leaned back and looked at the other man with a bit confused and frustrated expression.

“What do you mean Roth?”

Roth grinned and responded with a joyful voice.

“That’s a surprise, but I’m sure it’s in your taste.” Roth made space for him to come down and signalled to Lewis that he can go the way of the exit by a spanking on the side of the carriage. It vanished into the mist and two men who left in front of the gates. The sun was bright but this won’t stop the assassin. He already learned how the melt into the sunlight, how to vanish in the burning, yellow ball. Both stepped in. Jacob looked around and used his eagle vision to see through the place’s structure and marked all the green coats. None of them were too close, but still planned his approach in a higher way so he can avoid any group of Rooks.

“I cast my vote approaching from the highs.” He stated. Roth nodded. ”Can you follow me?”

“Of course my dear” Jacob went up a rusty duct, sometimes he helped up Maxwell. They went on a tube bridge above a group or Rooks. They stepped onto the rooftop of a small warehouse beside the main factory. A ‘Hmmm’ left Roth’s throat as he looked down behind Jacob. The assassin felt the other’s eyes on his back as he jumped, climbed or just walked, and the gang leader also happily accepted his help on the way. They took an evasive on other tubes, avoiding any Rooks’ sighs. “Sudden plans are your style as I see.” He commented at some point.

Jacob jumped onto a grille wall where Roth couldn’t follow him anymore. The younger looked down at the other. Some sweat drops appeared on his face already. He never saw a look at himself what Roth had on him; not Evie’s, Father’s; but the opposite of those.

“Is this that unequivocal?” He asked back with a challenge in his voice.

“Yes it is, but this doesn’t mean it is a bad trait.” The older man looked to the entrance of the factory. “I would distract those over there, so that you can comfortably go through the entrance on the rooftop.” He swayed his head to the direction of the greens at the named entrance.

“I thought you will just watch” He upended and looked at the same group Roth mentioned.

“What’s the fun in that?” Jacob threw a smoke bomb without a word into the other man’s hands. Just for being secure. ”Then took this. We will meet outside” The assassin said and jumped again onto another wall and waited for Roth's distraction.

He watched as the actor goes down from the higher level and starts to run up the stairs to the enemy’s group. The assassin jumped across in the air and almost fell from the rooftop of a little warehouse part of the factory but successfully managed to bring himself up without a sound. He panted but instantly turned his head to Roth’s direction as he heard the first sound of shooting guns. The actor already shot two down but as he seemed to get a shot in the arms the mist of the smoke bomb made him disappear in the fight; even from the young Master Assassin’s eyes. With that in action, he had the knowledge Roth survived the attack, the man was a fighter and not looking easy to kill.

He smelled the blood and this just put the adrenaline higher in his veins. He climbed on the walls and made music by his boots on the glass windows where warm lights went through into the open space. As he stepped in, he arrived onto a metal platform. The air inside the factory hugged his whole being around, went through his ragged clothes, into his very flesh. He went on a tube to a baluster that had a metal pier with some dynamite on the top of it. Jacob looked around and saw a group of Rooks on the right side. The thought of how easily can a body blow up, and with technique it will be much easier to kill the enemies. The roof’s shadow made him disappear from the unspoken eyes while he did the bloody work. He picked up a box of dynamite and threw it down to the middle of the green group. He didn’t demure to shoot the box with his new pistol. First some surprised groans than a sound of explosion saturated around the factory’s inside. A cut off scream, and blood covered the nearby walls. The surviving Rooks went closer to see what had happened. He just has to find George and kill the man, then escape from the killer factory.

The vapor warmed his face but he went back into the moment as he noticed a bell. He bended his eyebrows at that. Rooks in front of the entrance; two still stayed there after Maxwell Roth’s attack. And one that patrolled around the bell. He smirked and tried out his hidden blade. When the man went in front of the bell he jumped down and stabbed the Rook to the neck. It was a quiet kill but the group beside Jacob wasn’t blind. Not like he didn’t plan to fight a bit. He put on his boxer and upend from the dead body.

“Hello boys.” He stepped closer. A shot went beside him. He easily dodged the shot and looked back at the man. The assassin looked like itself, the Ripper came to life. Frye’s face couldn’t be seen by the shadow from the hood, his body was full of strength and pride. No fear in any of his movements. He used his pistol and put a bullet into the bigger one's head The man instantly yielded and died. The other one stepped back but went to attack Jacob with a knife. A light chuckle escaped the assassin. The stab came from the right but Jacob went down and punched his enemy into the ribs, leaving the man with a groan. He stepped onto the Rook’s foot as strong as he could; maybe he even broke a finger by the sound of the man. Jacob didn’t wait and punched the man in the jaw. He finished up killing all the green ones on the left side. After that, as a trophy he robbed the dead bodies and cut the bell.

To his surprise he found a key at one of them, which was attached to one of the doors in the building . He used his eagle vision to find the Master Assassin Target and the door he needed to open this with. He found a golden keyhole and a light golden form near the same door. He ran through the mist, watched the scared workers beside the heated furnaces on the side of the walls. Nobody was here to stop him. He was the crow with the Fate of Death. He tried to open the door but of course it was locked.

“Locked…” He whispered and pulled out the key he found. The door slowly opened, relieving boxes and sacks around the dark room. Almost no light went into the places but Jacob’s eyes were familiar with the darkness.

Once Evie said a quote, every assassin knew it, and Jacob even if he didn’t care this made it stick in his mind. ‘We work in the dark to serve the light’. That was true indeed, maybe this is why father and Evie hated him; Jacob Frye if he needed to step out of the dark he will with pride. In the dark a figure over a table appeared further away. The silhouette was lighted by an oil lamp on the desk. The man was turned to the desk, looking over a map. It was George. Papers and weapons hovered around the man. Like this was just a rushed office to stay in. It was strange indeed to see that. But why exactly was George here? He, himself said they shouldn’t go to London. But what if….

Jacob shuddered at the sigh that left the warm kindled man. The Frye breathed in deeply, and made his blade ready. This isn’t the time to forget that George Westhouse is his **target** . An Assassin he has to kill. He wished this wouldn’t happen, he wished to find the factory empty. _Oh please be a quick death_ he prayed and stepped closer by centimetre by centimetre _for him or for me._ The younger readied his gauntlet and jumped to stab George in the throat. But as he almost cut it -Jacob already saw the blood on his hands, George’s blood, the cold corpse of the beloved man- as his arms were suddenly knocked down to the desk and locked by George’s hand. His enemy was indelibly surprised by the attack. But never forget that he was a Master Assassin, and he had his instincts to avoid Death. The younger glared at the unsuccessful attack and used George’s shock to try and kill him with his right hand. It almost touched George neck’s back, a light scar left on the skin but again George locked his hand and tried to hold Jacob’s strength back. As both of them catch their breath the older’s shaky voice filled up the darkness:

“Jacob?!” That almost innocent tone just made Jacob’s job harder and his eyes showed it well. He tried to bury that feeling of guilt by anger, losing in the shapes around him.

A last whisper of “Sorry” left him before his animal instincts got the better of him and stepped closer and closer to finish his job. George looked around and pushed Jacob away, towards a wall. The younger Master Assassin groaned at the pain he got into his back by slamming into the hard wall. The adrenaline still healed him from that pain in his head and noticed George's deadly movement. Westhouse got a pistol in hand and wasn’t afraid to shoot. But it went beside Jacob's head and bounced down from the surface into the wooden floor. A gasp left the both as they clearly realized that this isn’t a vision. Frye moved first and stumbled on his own feet but at least he was quicker to move than George and threw down a smoke bomb near him.

Hard and hopeless coughing made his enemy step back and try to get to his weapons or out of the smog but wail left George's throat with a groan as he choked on his own blood by the blade of Jacob; pinning him down to the table by his stabbed neck. With his left strength he tried to get Jacob’s blade out of his neck but that power left him by a moment before. He didn’t die without a try; he always learned that no assassin should die of forsake. He glared as he struggled for a moment before putting his head down on the desk. Tears fell down, but not just from George’s eyes, but a bit from the killers too. The face of a middle aged man got whither; and dark, widened eyes looked up. Like he can see something more beautiful, that the living can’t. His hands left Jacob’s, totally giving up and accepting the shake of Death. His body slowly slid down from the table but the younger held him in his arms, and put him down onto the floor, like the man still lived and felt that last comfort. He put down his necklace and cleared it in his coat then put it onto George’s palm and pushed the man’s fingers around that one penny.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Roth finally starts to have some kind of training together, but someone familiar comes into the picture.

# 

People are quick to judge but slow to correct themselves.

-Ezio Auditore 

  
  


-The Night Before George’s Death-   
  
Roth poured one more round for Jacob. Neither of them was hungry, or at least not for the food that took place on the table. Quiet music went in the background; what was made by the practicing musicians and singers provided for them. Sharp violin and light piano went beside each other in the notes, like a dancing couple in the withered air.   
Roth didn’t stand far away from Frye, and they stared into each others’ eyes like they could talk with this action, without words. Both of them wanted something from the other, though neither of them could explain it in the other’s language. Roth took a shot with his whiskey, then tilted his head to the side, his neck bent and connected his chin to his body. And the blood on his white skin would have been a beautiful view. Jacon saw a man’s blood squirt out, usually because of his own weapon. And it wasn't hard to imagine the same wound on Roth.

Maxwell’s tone tried to pretend to be sweet towards the boy, but his voice was so husky basically, so much that Jacob was afraid that he could become mute by any minute.

“And may I ask,  **_Jacob_ ** ,”Roth always said his name more powerfully than any other of his words. Like just saying the name of the assassin would be worth more than anything on this World “Aren’t you worried that you chose the wrong path?” Jacob hummed and sunken into the reddish backrest of the chair comfortably. The actor’s cologne made his nose twitch for a moment. It was sweet but elegant, and probably expensive like everything the eyes could see around the theatre. 

“Why do you ask?” He asked while measuring up the other. Jacob challenged and Roth played along, strangely. He didn’t even shiver, nor moved and responded instantly with the same confidence:

“You don’t seem to be the man that gets involved with  _ groups _ like these”Jacob grinned at the sensation. He was truly not the type of man who pleasantly took part in those things, sure,  _ he left the Creed because of that too.  _ But he still wanted to continue this friendly competition in the scrub of words.

“Says the one who works for Starrick.” He reminded the other. But the Blighter just roared with laughter so honestly that it sacred off the assassin for a moment;

his eyes closed, his teeth shown under his moustache like a monster’s:

“Oh Jacob, my dear, I am no man of Starrick,” He looked Jacob in the eyes, seductively and played with his elegant glass on the table. The lights on the stage that directly went through the glass transformed it to a star between Roth white gloved fingers, blinding the assassin repeatedly as the older man moved it. Jacob swallowed and tried to look at Maxwell and to his little play thing at the same time. Not like Roth had any intention or opportunity to kill him with it. He just felt more heavy; hearing the noise of wobbling whiskey “ We are,,, Connections.  _ Business Connections. _ I am rather a gang leader than some kind of Templar…  _ And that man is dreadful _ .”He made a Templar symbol on the table with his hands then swept it away right after it was done. He grabbed some grapes from the other side of the desk and stepped closer to the younger. Jacob almost stood up, but he only leaned forward, towards Roth from unknown reasons. Something pulled him forward by every step Roth took. 

“So Jacob Frye, why did you join the Order?” Jacob lightly gasped, his heart raced, every kind of response went through his mind, but he burned; burned in some kind of flames that he didn’t know the name of, the sweet alcohol’s, the compliments’, every word burnt his tongue and made it sting. He tried to keep his legs in place, he didn’t know if he wanted to dance with it, or wanted to kill the other man. The Frye’s eyes looked orange in the dramatic light. 

But the Blighter just listened patiently. Maxwell acted like he had all the time of the World, taking his time to watch Jacob’s slowly parting lips, could hear the wild pounding of his heart that could have been the rhythm racket.

“Freedom, and justice Mr. Roth” and those simple words made the boy just more sympathetic in the eyes of the actor. Roth nodded and the satisfied chuckle left his lips than a proud smile stayed on his face.

He slimmed closer to Jacob than leaned down close to him, so unbelievably close. The assassin had this closeness with others. But all of them were enemies who tried to threaten; angry, hateful eyes, grumpy face. But this was something different, he didn’t see any marks of these features on Maxwell’s face. They felt each others’ alcohol smelling breath. 

Roth put a grape between Jacob’s cheeky, parted lips. The assassin realized the position of his mouth but still looked at the other man, into those green and light blue eyes, looking like they were trying to capture the moment. He felt as Roth’s gloved thumb touched his bottom lip slyly as they left the fruit in the other’s mouth. The action made the cold run down on 

Jacob’s spine than into his very bones.

He could threaten Maxwell Roth but he didn’t do such a thing, not because he couldn’t do it -don’t forget; he was Jacob Frye-, and not because he was now his trainer -though it was something that stopped Jacob a bit- but because he was curious, which made him pull and push between the yes and no to stop the man making his way.

“  Alors nous sommes sur la même longueur d'onde, ma chère” Roth whispered so just the two of them heard it. He waited till Jacob ate the fruit which almost fell down from the place he put it. Like they made a deal for life or death, hate or love. “And you don’t need to say ‘Mr’. I hate these formalities.” he commented.

***

Jacob heard different, messy sounds from the outside. They weren’t rhythmical like all the music he heard from the Theatre. It was a feeling like chaos was after him. The dark room’s silence still made his stomach flip more than the unknown moving from the outside. The look on the corpse’s face, the cold eyes, which stayed on George; he knew that would haunt him for some time, or for even,,, a lifetime. 

Roth’s guidance echoed in his head and made his way out of the poor made office that became a Master Assassin’s tomb also. He didn’t see Rooks -beside the dead whose ghost went above him- but Blighters around the factory; sumbling beside the walls of the building, trying not to step on the very corpses Jacob left behind himself before the final kill. The men and women had explosives in hand, more of them with boxes but some of them with big barrels. The smell of gasoline and gunpowder hit like home and he didn’t smell different. He stopped in front of the entrance, the dim light drew silhouettes onto the bloody and dirty ground. He saw reality in a blurry, the adrenaline stayed in him from before and got over his head. Mr. Roth could be seen from that distance, the Blighter was giving orders between the gates and building to his people. Outside the gates a few carriages stood, 2 already empty but the others still packed up with explosives.

Jacob couldn’t wait to walk down the stone stairs, and rather jumped down into the ground, leaving a thud sound under his legs, wobbly. He stood up and pulled up his hat to the place of the hood. He stepped beside the Gang Leader; his breathing quick and little, his smile sweet and mouth thin. One of Roth’s hands was pushed onto himself back, the other directed his people. The newby’s breathing was hot on the actor’s neck as he looked around.

“I presume it was successful.” He commented and looked down at Jacob’s bloody hands. The boy was smelling of blood, dust and explosives like a good working killer. His clothes were in the state of most of the high posted Whitechapel men, what was not a compliment toward the assassin, or at the trousers and the waistcoat.Jacob nodded, agreeing to to chaos around himself not ever looking into those emerald eyes beside him.” **_Jacob_ ** ” 

Jacob didn’t just turn to look into the man’s fiery eyes, not just because his name was said from that direction, however, a hand resting on his waist made him flinch towards the limb. He got back to this monstrosity called reality instantly, and his smile faded a bit “Good news, bad news,”He started and extended some kind of machine towards Jacob that he thought he would never see this close to himself. It was a rope launcher, familiar from Keylock’s desk, though he could never see it in action”Keylock was found dead this morning in Whitechapel. I thought if that idiot can’t use it anymore, with some creativity you can.” Jacob got his hands on the launcher and stepped back with a pleased giggle, expressing his joy from the sudden, mourning gif. 

“You truly a sly bastard.”He hissed through his teeth and stared at the machine, with the same joy as you throwing a bone to a starving lion. 

“I see you like it.” He adjusted his coat’s sleeve then glanced at the empty carriages “Jacob!” he called out to him again. The boy looked up still amazed by his new toy then stepped back to the little bit smaller man and turned his head in the direction the other did “Let’s put on a show, shall we?” 

Jacob looked up and noticed how Roth’s pistol was pointing at one of the boxes of dynamite. A shot went beside his ear than like dominos the boxes of dynamite exploded in a big finale, in the heart of the factory. A sudden heat caressed their cheeks, metal flew in the wind, yelling and screaming mostly from the Blighters that stayed in by accident, some of them half dead, and some of them eaten by the phoenix that grew into a giant from the red flames. The windows, those that the assassin's boots made music on, broke out from the heat into million sparkling pieces. Yellow and red lights dance on the walls.

Roth laughed and as he walked backwards, he threw his hands open, welcoming the deadly warmth of the fire. His grin was devilish but charming, and it burned with honesty. Like he summoned some sort of god that will burn down whole London, the whole World. And said:

“Now this is what I call; Entertainment!” He looked at Jacob with the same grin. In the assassin’s wild pupiled eyes, the warm flames’ lights mirrored. He knew that Frye would like it, he saw the boy’s excellent taste from afar and he was pleased by that warm smile, for the hungry eyes that looked at the same hellfire as him. 

He sighed, Jacob asked “And now?” He whispered into the warm, poisoned air still melted into the sight. Roth wasn’t hurted. 

“Whaaaat? You need more?! This is like alcohol, the best is a lot!” A deep, seductive chuckle left Jacob’s lips. Oh how it made Roth shudder “Don’t be afraid my friend,” As Jacob turned back to him, his eyes were dark despite the fire that played in them, they were ready for any kind of next adventure. You get some, you lose some. It was so big of a temptation to not eat the other man right then and there” I have some other outings planned for us! Alas! We shall make our way back slowly!” Roth grabbed into the air dramatically. He made every of his moves like an invisible audience would watch him by every minute. He turned to the gates and made his way back. Jacob twisted his head back for a last time to memorize the tomb of a burning Master Assassin, now living in the flames of the factory than got back beside Maxwell.

  
  


\- One Week After -

Dramaturgy never felt close to Jacob Frye, not even any kind of acting. For an assassin, he was an assassin; but he used another kind of method to thaw into his environment. 

Roth gave him the room he stayed in before the death of George Westhouse for the time being. It was not big, nor small but it had a more than enough big and comfortable bed. It took place on the first floor, and he shared a wide balcony on the side with Maxwell. It didn’t bother him, even, he enjoyed the man’s company, pleasantly annoying when he made Jacob’s words stuck in his throat. He regretted nothing, still, he enjoyed the cold air on his skin when he pulled down his coat and without any formalities he stayed in his white shirt, or in his waistcoat if the weather was colder than expected. He saw that Roth was not bothered, however he felt his eye measuring him again-again, after he saw the boy fighting in the clubs almost a hundred times already. With Roth, he felt like he sweated more on those nights spended together, or maybe it was just him who felt hotter beside the special quality drink the actor always offered kindly. 

It was a night like that, after acting all day on the stage of the building, the canvas of Maxwell Roth. They leaned on the railings, one of them with a jug and the other with a bottle. Frye thought he would try out what the other liked. Personally he thought he has less answered questions than the other. Jacob’s cheeks were redish by the whiskey and the jovial conversation. His hair hung on both sides of his head, he tried to get it in place all day but failed every time.

“Oh Jacob, dear,”Maxwell used his nickname more and more times. ‘Dear’ has many meanings. In any way, it didn’t bother Jacob, on the contrary he comprehended it as a compliment, as he heard the Blighter saying his name with a never ending respect, and adorness “You should have learned it a long time ago; an actor needs to stay in the character they play in any all cases”

‘ _ Make it look beautiful, but train it to kill _ ’ he said a few times while he listened to the young actor’s -and assassin’s- whining. 

“But I am no actor Roth.” He responded sharply. Roth hummed and took a gulp of his drink. Whiskey, what Jacob also drank, though it wasn’t his taste if he could say that. 

“We aren’t so different as you think Jacob Frye. Me and you, both of us just want to find freedom and enjoy life.  _ Killing has its own art _ . And the person who rules both of these, is above all.” Jacob raised an eyebrow and didn’t comment on the wise words. A big amount of alcohol burned his throat, like it will open up the tap of words that stuck in the way. Jacob upend and his eyes went down on the big scar Roth had from his forehead to his chin.

“And are you a master of both?” It was something behind that wound that he so unbelievably wanted to know, and was scared by the same knowledge. Jacob was a curious creature, and it was something that Roth liked. Who isn’t curious is trapped in their own mind.

He stood up from his position and he put his fingers on the scar slowly and shyly. Skin on skin. For first, the actor shivered at the new kind of touch on his face. Jacob stroked down on the rough skin, it was haunting how deep it was, he memorized every little beautiful mistake on the man’s face. It made him more special and made Jacob more curious. 

But Roth’s hand pulled Jacob’s hand down oh so quick with a light sigh. Like he misses the warmth of the touch he just broke. That was the moment when the boy realized what he just did, how it could make the other feel as much he was full of confidence a few moments before. 

“Roth, I-” 

“Don’t worry Jacob-”a sorrowful smile appeared on his skull like a face, on the face that Jacob touched a few moments ago “I planned a mission for you tomorrow anyways.”

“A mission?” Jacob already forgot the awkward moments by the mentioning of a new responsibility to do.

“Of course! What would you use your acting powers for if not for this?” 

“A test?”

“We can say that…”He nodded “You asked if there is a way to put that mechanism onto your pretty blade” Jacob’s eyes sparkled up, his senses got sharper “Alexander Graham Bell, One of London’s men that Starrick wants to get his hands on. An inventor, but sure he won’t help you if you are a Templar, so i thought why not try out your new skills on the field.”

“Are you sure about this?” A trustful grin appeared on the boy’s face. 

“Of course! I taught you! Remember?” Both of them chuckled, Roth had a humorous arrogance that Jacob could line up with. He had jokes that hid in the dark “But it would be a disgrace to send you in these old rags” He held the end of Jacob’s coat and rubbed it between his fingers. Then he stood up with his bottle and seemed to be ready to go back to his room for tonight. Jacob still didn’t catch what Maxwell said for a while.

“You don’t need to-”

“ **_Jacob_ ** ,” The older looked back sharply, last for tonight and measured Jacob’s body “It would be a shame for  _ me _ . Take it as a business present.” He held the bottle up, a gesture of cheers, then left the other under the clear night sky, under the lights of the stars.

  
  


***

Jacob didn’t wait till morning to get into action. Or at least to have some fun. Roth encouraged him in the first place to go on outings by himself. He wasn’t sure if he was always  _ alone _ . However he tried to use his new found skill, of course not just the newfound artistic ones.

Not like the always said ‘Don’t get caught’ didn’t make him feel fuzzy as he jumped down on the side of the Alhambra. And he heard as Roth leaned more on the railings watching his assassin disappear in the glassy darkness of London.But now, Jacob didn’t want to cause trouble nor needed to continue the river of words on Roth’s lips. True, the company on these night trips wouldn’t have bothered him.

He wasn’t the only one who walked on the night sky of London. The people of the underworld just woke up, still the Strand stayed as Maxwell Roth’s castle, above everyone. Well fenced territories, green -slowly brown- trees covered the streets; still he got lost somewhere far away from the shiny castle that became his new home. From the moment he killed George he was thinking about who will be the next one. Maybe the mentioned Henry Green, his sister, his father and so many other Assassins who lived in the same tenebrous shadows of London. The houses judgmentally leaned above him. The moon cleared up the marks of his boots on the street. No rooks were rare, loud croaking followed him from behind. Slowly the memory of the necklace faded, the feeling on his skin was not so weird anymore. The necklace probably became something totally different under the flames of the factory, forged into an old memory, however he didn’t know what Roth did with the corpse of the Assassin.

He stepped into lonely, lighted puddles not knowing himself what he was seeking for so late, but trouble always found him. As he walked on the tenderly lighted, but well decorated streets he noticed a green coat in a close park. The lamps’ light made the park surrounded by tall houses around looking like a light ball in the middle of the city part. He stepped back and melted into the close shadows of the apartment. Of course not everyone was afraid to dare and step into this great underworld. But his assassin eyes won't passport beside something like that. Some kind of cargo was on a near carriage, in front of the entrance into the park: the Rook’s cargo. Who was the leader of them if not George? Maybe Henry Green, but they have never seen him on the field, nor he would be able to make the gang bloom like the dead Master Assassin. In any case he will be able to give himself a red point if he can steal a cargo like this from the enemy.

He climbed onto the top of the building in front of him and looked down at the place from above. A bunch of Rooks, ten nearby, 4 near the cargo and two shooters. 

He quietly took out a throwing knife and made his way onto the highest point he could find then threw the first knife into one of the patrolling women’s heads with a gun. She lied on the rooftop of a nearby house, luckily nobody noticed the body. He climbed down onto a lower rooftop, but he stayed unseen. As he stepped as blackbirds hesitantly flew up from the same rooftop and they cut the sky into two parts. He pulled up his hood and put his hat into one of his side pockets. He kept one of his eyes constantly on the carriage, being aware of everything that might alert other Rooks. He made his way on a chain above the cobblestone covered to the carriage. Two Rooks stood in his way on both sides. He threw down a smoke bomb and killed both men by a stab into the chest. The boy on the front of the carriage heard the noise and noticed the reaper himself coming out of the white smoke in the dreamy light of the lamp and moon. The man almost started the carriage when Jacob could pull him down and stabbed him in the neck without mercy. He jumped up and started the horses without a wait. The green coats on the front died under the hoof of wild horses. As the assassin turned out of the park he looked back just so he could laugh at the rest of loser greens. They tried to shoot him but he was too much used to this to get wounded by some swallow gang members. He took a turn towards a near bridge. The sound of cracking rooks under the heels made his blood boil, and sounded like they blew his victorious music. His grin became wider with pride. 

He looked into the Thames’s silver white waves, his eyes watching the bridge in front of him till he heard the crackle of boots on the carriage’s wooden top. The city’s light made a familiar hood come to life from the darkness. He turned back and his hood went off his head, and he saw those turkiz eyes filled with disbelief and disappointed surprise. His brain tried to make sense as he couldn’t get his eye off the female figure, with the same number of freckles he saw from childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took me more time to write this chapter than expected. Still I hope you enjoyed! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob finally gets his position but someone familiar and close to him cuts into his plans and peace more and more, giving him another goal.

“Our Creed does not command us to be free. It commands us to be wise.”

-Altair Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad 

  
  
  


“Jacob?!?” The sounding of his name wasn’t so sweet as it was in the last few days. Bittersweet memories like lightning hit him, and no words stick on his tongue, just staring into the eyes of the other which he hadn't seen since a few weeks. Blue like the tropical sea, he heard this metaphor from his only great father who went further than England. The lights slowly disappeared behind the woman’s dark silhouette, the Assassin’s metal symbol glinted on the female’s figures clothes.

Jacob didn’t watch the road anymore, he just felt how the carriage’s wheels hit the sidewalk and suddenly they slammed against the marvel handrail of the bridge. Pain flashed into his side by the sudden accident and he let go the horses to grab into the barrels and stay in place, his old hat got lost under the wheel and left out on the street. The Assassin vanished from the top of the carriage but a few fingers got caught on the side as she hung down from the moving wooden box. 

Jacob looked around worried, eyes wide, and noticed Evie’s fingers desperately hanging onto the wooden sides, holding her body up with her legs pushed against the wall like she was hanging from a building, but the constant shaking probably made this much more suffering for the Assassin. 

“Evie!” Jacob instantly got up from his seat and climbed onto the top of the barrels which moved lightly under his feet. Sweat dropped down from his forehead, and as he went closer to his twin to help her up, before he could extend a helping hand the carriage took a sharp turn smashed to the railing now with much more power than the first accident, even the horses didn’t know where to go after the occasion.

Jacob stepped back, his balance got unsure and the young man fell back, towards the Thames, and before he knew he tried to grab into the railings of the bridge with his hands. He felt his body in the air, and as he almost got his fingers on the bridge, it seemed that the structure was just leaning away from him. A surprised sound left his throat. The cold went through his coat, deeper into his flesh by the dewy and rainy wind. Eyes wide opened, saw the hundred and more stars above him in the blind dark sky, like they watched him judgmentally ‘What a pathetic creature’. 

Eyes runned close, he felt the cold water around his body suddenly, the pain of the flat water like a knife thrown into his back. Cold, hopeless, painful, he almost believed he died, but he curled up in the last minutes of flying and survived the fall. As he got to the surface from the dark water of the Thames he felt alive, and valued the dear oxigen. He looked up, until his eyesight didn’t reach the top of the bridge, hearing wild horses on the cobblestones…

“Well we know this now…”

  
  


***

The rise of early sun licked the foot of London. The clouds cut through the dark sky above the city, painting godly faces in the air. Birds' voices filled up the empty streets along with the music of wild violins from the near backyards. 

Jacob fell into the music hall by the first door, surprisingly it was opened, he found it odd. As he stepped in, wet and cold, he met with a familiar face. Lewis, the assistant of Roth stood on the first step of the stairs that led up to the first floor- where his room was too. The man’s face was pretty emotionless, as usual, while his eyes were filled with disapproval for the shaking assassin who stayed alive by only the hall’s warmer temperature. Two towels were in Lewis’s hand and he extended those towards the younger man. 

“A bath waits for you on the second floor’s bathroom” He said it like a commend, Jacob obeyed and thanked helpful guidance. He nodded then bypassed the man. He felt how Lewis’s eyes followed him, but maybe he just groaned at the muddy footsteps he left on the red carpet. 

Jacob couldn’t think much who, and how did someone set up a fresh, warm bath just for him, in a very luxury bathroom. The cold dancing on his skin interested him more, and his body demanded to get into the bathtub as soon as possible so he could be saved by the water, the same thing that he almost died an hour or two ago. He left his clothes somewhere on the way to the bathroom, leaving a path of clothes after his strides, then he sank into the warm water with his whole body and dived into it for a few moments, so he could fresh up totally. 

The bathroom was not so decorated but the walls had the same pattern as the corridors of the theatre, a gold framed mirror, a pretty tap, toilet and a new fashioned bathtub that he had never seen before. Before this, he always took dips into rivers, lakes or in a wooden tub in cold water as bathes, and now, warm water and soap waited for him. 

After he learnt how to use the soap, and felt the bit of the same coldness in the tub he could finally think of how he could have got a bath exactly when he got back to the theatre. He didn’t have much choice than of course, Maxwell Roth, but how did this man know when he got back. The actor had some magic tricks in his pocket, but this seemed too odd to be true. He looked around, legs pulled up, almost to his chest when he glanced at the little desk near the bathtub. There were clothes on it, especially a dark blue, vibrating coat with a note on it, addressed to him as he could see from afar. He gasped then pulled the outfit piece closer, nearly touching the water but rather laying on the side of the tub. He grabbed the note and read the little letter, written with golden styled words:

_ “ Dear Jacob,  _

_ My sadness to tell but Mr. Starrick has an urgent meeting tomorrow. There is an outfit you can wear till your loved, old one gets dry. Meet me downstairs at the back entrance tomorrow dayspring .  _

_ Yours, Maxwell Roth” _

Jacob’s stomach tightened at how Roth ended the letter, but looked at the other side of the note and found nothing, empty page. He put down the paper back and measured the clothing he held better. He put it back carefully and climbed out of the peaceful lake he stayed in, and placed one of the towels around his waist, picked up the new outfit and the note to leave the scene quietly. 

  
  


***

The darkness of Starrick’s office waited for the guests. Whispers surrounded the ones who stepped in. The gossip about Elliotson’s death quickly spread around London; ‘Elliotson is dead’ ‘He was killed by being stabbed in the throat’ ‘Did you hear about those  _ Assassins _ ?’ a thousand questions and indignation burnt in each, except Jacob who was concealed by the shadow of bookshelves, quietly and watched the show from the back seats along with Maxwell who was more brave to stand in the shallow light from the windows, close to the grand piano. Starrick sat a bit aside, the cold sunlight stared at his face in a line, and sharpened the Grand Master’s determined wrinkles. His hands stayed on the table. 

Before they got to the scene Roth introduced every sheep in the room. 

Twopenny, Attaway, Ms Throne, Cardigan, and the now dead Elliotson. Maybe his ghost was still here, haunting someone from the office.

For now he had some confusion, and the new outfit just became comfortable enough to climb and fight. The tight, but strong material lined out his magnificent adges. He was dressed in black and red, and as an encore he got an o’wanted top hat. He cleaned his boots but it was still more scruffy than his other fresh given clothing pieces. Roth named it ‘Dracula’ and Jacob didn’t argue he just felt like that creature of the dark, however the moss green waistcoat felt out of place. 

“Elliotson is dead! And the production of Starrick’s Soothing Syrup stopped! Just in ONE week?!? Outrageous!” One of them said loudly, only seeing his back. 

Roth chuckled, ever so entertained eyes. He pulled out a well decorated metal, flat case, which fit into his pocket, and was big enough to carry 8-10 cigarettes. Both the case and cigarettes looked new, and Jacob’s eyes again starred in amusement. Maxwell took one out of the box and put it between his lips gently while a satisfied, devilish smile hooked onto his sharp cheeks. The actor also watchfully took out a lighter and calmly lit the poison and took a puff. The cigarette’s yellow light was welcomed in the darkest corner.

But soon the smile of the Blighter Leader faded and he tried to seek the Templar “Grand” Master’s eyes, but the man was hiding by those cheap dogs around him. Finally their eyes met and Starrick glarred. Roth didn’t seem to be the one who is enjoying the people here, maybe he just enjoyed the chaos made by those people.

“That  _ Frye _ ,” His sister was mentioned. “she started to take over the whole London, and give it back to the people!” _ and why is this a problem? _ Jacob thought for a moment then answered his own question; there will be always some assholes. The assistant in the middle of the turbulence served tea and covered the bright lights from the visitors in the back. 

“Or maybe she doesn’t want to cause such problems at all, but is simply content to dice with our lives!” Jacob was silent despite the urge to speak up; his sister, making chaos? Never. While the drama went along Roth broke the silence and whispered it to Frye:

“In the last days they found Elliotson’s body in the Asylum,  **_I_ ** ,  **_myself_ ** is even surprised how Scotland Yard couldn’t find the killer.” He breathed out the smoke towards the closed windows that action Jacob found useless. He rather turned back to the people and looked over every each when he met with Starrick’s stare “It seems your sister came to London too” Maxwell continued taking another puff lazily “and there are many reports probably of her work in the city, she started taking over the Thames too…And totally took over the train that Mr. Westhouse stole from us a month back...”The younger took a deep breath what Roth raised an eyebrow towards. The gang leader then shook his head and leaned back up so he was covered by the shadows halfway.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The Grandmaster started and swirled his spoon in the cup.”This tea was brought to me from India by a ship, up from the harbor to a factory, where it was packaged and ferried by carriage to my door, unpacked in the larder and brought upstairs to  _ me _ .” He followed his words with hand movements “All by men and women who work for  _ me _ . Who are indebted to  **_me, Cawford Starrick,_ ** for their jobs, their time, the very lives they lead. They will work in my factories and too shall their children…”

For a moment Jacob’s heart stopped, Starrick’s eyes mostly stayed on him while he spoke. Indeed a powerful man who Starrick was, though didn’t seem to be so reckless as his own teacher who was a forgotten king of the underworld. The lion and the hyena watched each other deadly. In a way they were two kings, both ruling the city on other platforms, but both didn’t have the pride to work together even after an Assassin came into the picture.

“And you come to me” he continued now glancing at the man who made him start in the first place “with talk of Evie Frye? This woman who calls herself an Assassin? You disrespect not just me, the Order, but the city we very work on. The city that works all day and night sp we may drink this. This miracle. This tea.” A female member took a cup but didn’t speak.

“But look at that young man” Starrick pointed at the assassin in the back and angry, determined eyes waited for the shocked young man. “An “ _ Assassin” _ who wants to be the part of the order” He leaned back in his chair “The woman we hunt is his twin, and this man proved he can be the part of our Order!” He took a sip then took out a wooden chest from his office desk. It was well decorated, painted the colour red and gold, the Templar symbol on top “Come closer my boy” Jacob glanced at Roth who didn’t take his curious eyes off the place where he looked. Jacob made his way beside the familiar face with higher rank and stepped in front of the table. “Jacob Frye” The Master took out a small silver framed red rubint templar symbol “You are the member of the Templar Order from this day. The Father of Understand may guide you” He put this onto the young man’s chest then Jacob bowed down with respect towards the Grand Master.

  
  


***

  
  


Maxwell guided Jacob back to their carriage but he stopped the young man at the gates of Starrick’s castle. While going out of the building Roth took out another cigarette and kept it between his lips in the way like the young Templar did with the grape a week or two ago. Roth’s elegant black shoes stopped, swept a good amount of dust in the movement at flower and rooster decorated gates which waited for visitors with it’s opened wings. The dust flew up from the cobblestone into the air, leaving a brown could behind Maxwell. 

The sun was bright and Jacob felt too hot on this early December day, red and blue colors danced on his coat. Maxwell was in front of him, and adjusted Jacob’s coat, some kind of disappointment danced in his eyes and sometimes he peeked up from under to the Templar’s curious eyes and the gang leader’s visage softened, a light smile appeared on the older’s face. 

“It looks good on you,” He said, a bit forced and like he wanted to continue with some kind of compliment or comment “Though I feel shame how this makes the coat’s material a bit damaged.” Jacob chuckled and looked down onto the cross. He thought Roth would say it with a more prouder tone, he slowly carved for the attention of the man, he wanted to hear it. But as Roth said; He is more of a Blighter than a Templar, so Frye left it there. 

“I will put it onto the scarf…” He smirked to light up the mood and tilted his head towards the carriage, avoiding Roth sparkling, sly eyes that still stayed on Jacob’s chest and face, holding into the strong but flexible fabric. He saw from the corner of his eyes how Roth nods, and watches from start to end his neck. 

“The necklace?” The actor questioned standing back up.

“Ammm...I lost it while doing the assassinating mission of Geo-Mr. Westhouse…-he explained.

“A!” He tapped Jacob’s shoulder “What a shame, it was a pretty one.” he stated and turned towards the gates, taking a step towards “Anyways, slowly his body will be in the river...Let’s make our way to Mr. Bell, shall we?” He didn’t look back at Jacob who took a deep breath in at the statement then followed the Blighter. 

  
  


***

Jacob found himself guided by the wind of faith on Lambeth’s unknown streets.He looked at the little paper with a street number he got. He held the mechanics on the way -till Lewis didn’t throw him out of the carriage instantly after Roth said good luck as a goodbye- and as he got closer, he hid it in one of his inner pockets. The Templar was close to the Thames, and he looked over to the brown river as he saw a thousand or more corpses but they weren’t bodies, they were barrels, swimming on the surface of the river. He shook his head and looked at a tumbledown house with 2 floors. He quickly took down the badge and put it into one of his pockets then made a way across the road and stopped the door where the familiar street number took place. He tried to look through the windows but all was covered by curtains. 

In the end he knocked with the hidden bladed hand. At first he waited quietly, then tried again and got some kind of answer.

“Just a m-moment!” A male voice came from the inside with a Skottish accent.  _ Graham Bell _ said the name again in himself. 

A young man opened the door. He was surprised by the man with tophat who raised an eyebrow and tried to look around the Skottman into the building. 

“Who can I meet this evening?” The As-Templar turned his head to the side with a smile. He gulped and watched every emotion of the scientist. 

“Jacob Frye, Assassin.”He greeted.

“A! You must be the friend of Mr. Green!” He brightened “Come in, come in” He opened the doors wildly. Jacob was greeted by a wide, dusty and grey room, full of gadgets, tools, and other kinds of trifles. They got closer to the table beside the wall, and Jacob let the man do his work where books, papers were landed “So how can I help you, Mr. Frye?” he took down some books and tools; he seemed to be a weird but intelligent person in the eyes of Frye; this  _ Mr.Bell _ . 

Jacob put his hat down, then put the little mechanism onto the desk in front of the Skottman. 

“I want to put this onto my bracer” He said, not avoiding the topic and put it as imitation onto his arm as he imagined it. Alexander looked dozed out in his thoughts and measured Jacob and his idea for some time, back and forth but he took it out of Fry’s hands silently. 

“I think it can work” He responded simply while the other tried to look over his doing.

“I can see…” He responded in a sarcastic tone.

“I say, I could have used one of these to fit my fuses on the top of Big Ben.” Smiled at the ever so stoic Jacob who watched him a bit impatient but he enjoyed seeing Bell working hands. 

“What are you installing?”

“I plan instal a telegraph for our Free Press Association. To combat Starrick Telegraph Company.” Jacob nodded interested and noted it in mind. Aleck could get down the mechanics and put it on the bracer back “Is this good?”

“Perfect!” Jacob smirked delightedly.

The passed minutes were spent by adjusting the rope launcher to the hidden blade safely. As annoying the golden handed revolutionist was, he had a friendly vibe around the rooms that filled up with the smell of work. Jacob finally could look at the finished piece, and a word didn’t leave his mouth when a knock could be heard from the doors and an unknown voice reached them through the walls.

“Aleck!”A light male voice said the name quite loudly. Both of them stared at the door though, with both different expressions. Jacob was quite alerted as Aleck camly and for first just a little bit opened the door.

“Ohhh Mr. Green! How may I help you?” His voice was warm towards the visitor.The Templar closed his mouth and raised an eyebrow at the name; _ Mr. Henry Green _ . An Assassin who is a long time, important target in the eyes of the Templar Order. Kill him, or not kill him; that’s the question. The rope launcher is done, and it wouldn’t have been a hard task to kill both than leave the room. Who would know, and money can solve everything. But not him, he isn’t a wild animal what so many  _ people _ believe him so. He rather sees what’s this all about, information that can be useful afterwards. 

“I wanted to know if everything was alright, I brought Ms. Frye with myself too.”

“Oh! Ms. Frye, a pleasure to meet, maybe your brother visited me earlie-

“My brother?-” Evie looked in rushed and uninvited and met with nothingness beside loud footsteps out of the room.

He heard Evie’s steps behind his back as he ran on the dirty street, sometimes making shortcuts which were covered by the autumn leaves. They went through poodles where the blue sky reflected carelessly, their boots spilled the water aside, making independent civils breathless beside themselves. Like hunter the hunter, they hunted each other, forever playing a never ending game of tag. Jacob found himself in a dead end, Evie’s voice echoing through the streets. He looked down onto his arm, and launched up, seeing Evie looking around the smaller streets of Lambeth from the rooftops. 

  
  


***

  
  


Jacob’s way home was a disaster till he couldn’t toss his coat off and sit down onto his bed. The mattress cracked under his weight. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, catching his breath, then looked over onto the board that Roth hung onto the wall for him. Assassins’ names, pictures, every bit of information was on that bloody board. Some of the main Templar members, Elliotson’s picture covered up with a big red ‘X’ just like George’s. He pulled out the red templar badge and twirled it between his fingers, like he did with the coin. The memory felt old now, rusty. The room was dark, he was lost in the blues, no lamps reached this doom greyness. 

His eyes went over the board again and again, and the person’s name was already written onto it, the name he didn’t welcome there; “Evie Frye”. It was a bittersweet victory on his tongue. But his anger was bigger than his sympathy.

Towards his father, towards the Creed, and if he needs to bring justice to open the eyes of his sister, he will kill Assassins, threaten them, keep them captive, bring them to knees, and all of this was already served to him on a silver plate. “Eat what you cooked” someone said this once, or Roth on one of their lessons -though, he wouldn’t eat his own-.Next Henry Green, or at least he may know where Evie is, but he cannot rush, he is the master of living in the moment, but he can’t just walk in the dark. 

He wrote a name up, and another, and another, endless names stepped into his mind, and his father; glared at it and closed his eyes, just the mare thought that killing him was disgusting. As his pulse calmed down, on the thought of Evie coming in London, probably seeking for him, or something other, maybe George or not he still should have known this time will come, sooner or after. After all, he finally had a way to find that own twisted way of freedom. It’s time to rise, drink the blood of allies and enemies. He put the cross onto the side of his tophat so it can be seen from afar fair well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me for the late update, '^' but I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for reading! <3333


	5. Update

Excuse me for my late updates and other. For now because of translation and busy weeks I planned to write 2 chapters, and translate them in a row and post them around the same day they are done. I wated to tell I'm working on them, but due to other things I can't promise my 1 chapter update every month. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it. <3


End file.
